


Cabin Pressure: God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen

by Kerkerian_StopYulin



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Martin Crieff Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian_StopYulin/pseuds/Kerkerian_StopYulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Crieff falls ill shortly before Christmas. Thanks to a sad-looking Labrador and other circumstances, Arthur and Douglas happily break the law to come to his aid. Things develop from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Cabin Pressure and am not making any profit by writing about it.
> 
> There'll be possible spoilers for the whole series. Also, the first chapters of this story were written before the last season aired, meaning that the take on Martin's family is different to how they were portrayed in "Wokingham".

 

**Cabin Pressure:**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 1  
**

Martin closed the door to his room behind him and slowly walked over to his bed. He was so tired that he couldn´t think straight anymore; Carolyn had had her crew on a tight schedule for most of December, and he had only just returned from Taiwan. He wasn´t even sure which day it was, but the Christmas break must have started already, for the house had been dark and empty when he had returned. Abandoned. The students had gone home for the holidays. It was cold, too; the janitor probably had turned down the heating, assuming that no one was going to be there anyway.

Martin sank onto his bed, removing his tie and shoes with hands that were trembling with fatigue, but keeping on his coat, not caring whether it was going to crease. He closed his burning eyes and lay back, but despite his exhaustion, his mind wouldn´t let him rest.

He had had one day off, one blessed day in all of December, on which he had had a moving job. Instead of using the time to rest and regain some of his energy, or doing his laundry or write some Christmas cards- well, write _one_ Christmas card, for there were no other people to send cards to except his mother, he had to be grateful to get a job on precisely that day.

And what a job it had been. The woman whose stuff he had moved seemed to own nothing but exceptionally heavy things. It had been sleeting that day, which hadn´t made the whole task easier. And then his van had broken down, causing him to arrive at his customer´s new address not only frozen and soaked but also much later than expected; he could still hear her shrill voice ringing through his head, calling him unprofessional (thank God Douglas hadn´t heard that) and refusing to pay the full price.

 

And now it was close to Christmas and he barely had any money left for this month. He didn´t have to work for MJN again until the 28th, which was a blessing but also worrisome; at least flying meant some decent food (as long as Arthur didn´t cook it), warmth, and company.

He ran his hand over his face, trying to will away any thoughts about how Christmas used to be and how, ever since he had gone against his father´s will and become a pilot, it had changed. It was as though it had ceased to exist. He didn´t talk to his siblings any longer, or rather they wouldn´t talk to him, and his mum had become someone who he merely exchanged the occasional card with.

She had been the only one who´d tried to understand Martin, but now Simon and Caitlin, who had never taken their youngest brother too seriously, had children of their own. Martin´s mother was afraid that she´d be cut off from her grandchildren if she spoke up, therefore she didn´t, it was a simple as that. Martin never expected that she´d do this to him, but on the other hand, she´d never been strong or able to fight for herself.

Maybe he should be glad, he told himself, because he didn´t have any money for Christmas presents anyway.

But somehow, gladness was not what came to his mind. He felt lonely and miserable and for once couldn´t euphemise it.

 

He was still worrying about money when he finally fell asleep.

* * *

Arthur Shappey looked into the mirror and wondered whether one day he would pull off a convincing Santa. Maybe when he was much older and had more wrinkles, and maybe even white hair. He grimaced; he really hoped he´d have white hair, not the dull greyish tone his father was sporting.

He was pulled out of these thoughts when Carolyn knocked on the bathroom door: "Arthur."

"Yes, mum?"

"Herc´s going to pick me up in five minutes. I put the shopping list on the table."

"Brilliant! Thanks, mum."

"Don´t forget to walk Snoopadoog."

"No, mum, I won´t."

"And you will be all right?"

"Yes, mum, don´t worry."

"Good boy. Well, see you on Christmas Eve."

"Have fun!"

After she had gone, Arthur turned back to the mirror one last time: "All right, Arthur Shappey- off to Christmas shopping!"

He was very excited about being in charge of the Christmas supplies; Carolyn and Herc were going on a pre-Christmas getaway for two days, to a secret location at that. It had been an early Christmas present from Herc and meant that Arthur had to do the shopping and preparations, which he didn´t mind. On the contrary, he was feeling very grown-up and only a little nervous about doing something wrong. But he did have a list, so he was going to be fine; as long as he didn´t lose the slip of paper, everything was going to go according to plan.

* * *

Martin awoke bleary-eyed and momentarily confused as to where he was, and why he still was in his clothes.

He slowly sat up when it all came back to him; he was freezing, and he was starving. And he needed a shower, to thaw his cold limbs. Stupid of him to fall asleep on the bed without a blanket. "Just goes to show, Crieff," he murmured.

Sneezing, he went into the bathroom; the water didn´t get more than lukewarm however, since the heating had been turned down, therefore the shower didn´t do much to warm him up.

 

Martin hurriedly dried himself off and got dressed. At least he´d have a hot tea. He clutched the mug with both hands, grateful for the warmth, while he pondered what to do. He could of course phone the janitor, but he was behind with the rent again and didn´t wish to draw attention to himself. So that was no option. He couldn´t buy a fan heater because he couldn´t afford it. He couldn´t camp out at the airfield because Carolyn had the keys both to the office and Gerti.

He was stuck here. Pride prevented him from borrowing money from anyone, and besides, he didn´t know when he´d be able to pay it back.

He went back to his room and took a warm sweater out of his wardrobe, which he put on over his thinner one. A brief assessment of his financial situation confirmed that he had indeed only about 40 pounds left. One look at the calendar confirmed that it was December 22nd. He´d need some money for gas, which left him with 10 pounds if he calculated in some emergency cash.

He took a long time at ASDA, in the end buying one loaf of bread, some oat flakes and milk. He considered some tangerines but decided against them; he wouldn´t die if he didn´t get any vitamins in the next few days.

He lingered in front of the medical section for a while; his throat was a little sore and he felt as though he had a cold coming on, wondering whether he could prevent it from getting worse. He finally took one packet of Ibuprofen and went to the cash desk.

 

At home, he took care of his laundry; after he had put the load into the machine, he went back to his room, where he looked around. A bed, a wardrobe, a shelf filled with books, a small table, a chair. Not much to show for 34, he thought to himself. He didn´t have any Christmas decorations either, not even one candle. He should have bought one, a tiny voice in his mind said. For a little festivity, at least. But another, more insistent voice objected: _one candle isn´t going to change anything, and besides- Christmas is something I can´t afford anyway_.

Martin nodded, staring at the empty table for a while. He took a thin folder from his shelf to update his removal business accountancy, and began to work on the annual financial statement; by the time he was done, the laundry was done as well. He put it on a clothes rack and made himself another tea and some toast.

Then, for want of anything better to do and because he really didn´t feel too well, he crawled back into bed, pulling the duvet over his head.

He spent the rest of the day in bed, as well as the next two. He had woken up in the night with an aching back, aching limbs and a head which felt as though it was going to explode soon, and had only fallen back asleep in the early morning. The cold which had sneaked up on him had grown into a fully blown one, and he only wanted to sleep. He was vaguely aware that his phone was ringing at one point, but he was also feeling very hot and tired and didn´t have the energy to get up anyway.

**To Be Continued**

**Thank you for reading!  
**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I´m aware that Martin´s probably not that bad off (otherwise John Finnemore would be rather cruel if you come to think of it), but I´ll stick to my head canon, which for some reason always includes a little whump when concerning our favourite captain.
> 
> Furthermore, the title of course refers to Arthur´s singing in 'Molokai'.
> 
> Please leave some feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

**Cabin Pressure:**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 2  
**

Arthur hung up and disappointedly looked at his phone, willing Martin to ring back. Maybe he was out doing some last-minute shopping, or he was on his way to his family. They hadn´t talked about their plans for Christmas, it somehow hadn´t come up.

Chewing on his lip, Arthur searched through his directory under 'D'- there really were only two entries, Dirk the groundsman and Douglas Richardson, whom Arthur called now. Douglas picked up after the second ring: "Arthur! I believe we've already exchanged Season´s Greetings, so all that´s left to say is ´hello´."

"Hello, Douglas, "Arthur said, and the unusual tenseness in his voice had Douglas listen up: "What´s wrong?"

"Maybe there isn´t anything wrong," Arthur began, "though it could well be. That depends, really. I was just wondering if you knew what Martin´s doing this Christmas."

"No, I don´t. In fact, we haven´t talked much about Christmas at all, which admittedly seems strange in hindsight."

"Yeah, well- I tried to call Martin on his phone but he doesn´t pick it up. And he always picks up, even when he´s busy with something."

"That´s indeed unusual," Douglas said, pensively. Being the stickler that he was, Martin made a point of taking his phone everywhere, partially because he was afraid he might lose out on a job opportunity.

"You could drive by his house," Douglas suggested after a moment of silence, "see if his van´s there."

"Brilliant!" Arthur considerably perked up at this, "will do! Thank you, Douglas!"

"Anytime. Oh, and Arthur- keep me posted, will you?"

* * *

They rang off. Douglas put his phone down, frowning. Maybe Martin had for once forgotten to charge the batteries. Or he had accidentally left the phone at home when he had gone to visit his family. There was very likely going to be a simple explanation.

_No_ , a small but nagging voice in his head said, _you know Martin. He doesn´t forget things like that. And last you heard, he wasn´t too keen on meeting his family at all._

_-But it´s Christmas._

_-So?_

Douglas thought about the last flight back from Taiwan. Martin had been pale and quiet, but Douglas had put it down to exhaustion and the usual van-related worries. Nothing out of the ordinary. Now that he looked at it however, Douglas felt vaguely ashamed of himself. He had begun to take Martin´s problems as normal, which in all fairness they were, sort of, because they weren´t going to change soon.

Martin still wasn´t paid by Carolyn and still ran 'Icarus Removals' with the same decrepit old van he had inherited from his father. Unless he won the lottery one day or MJN had an unexpected windfall, Martin would have to deal with being rather poor and mostly unpaid.

But how could Douglas take it for commonplace, he now asked himself. He had come to consider Martin his friend, despite his pompousness; he knew that it was part of what kept the man going. If he was living on low standards, he at least needed to hold his pride as high as he could.

The question remained how Douglas could watch his friend struggle like that, taking it for granted that nothing was going to change anyway?

He looked at his phone, hoping that Arthur was going to ring again, telling him that everything was all right.

 

When Arthur did ring him ten minutes later, it didn´t exactly set his mind at ease: "The van´s here," Arthur said, "I rang the doorbell, but no one answered."

"Tell you what," Douglas said, "I´ll try to ring Martin in an hour. If he doesn´t answer, I´ll drive by his house."

"Oh Douglas, would you really do that?"

"Of course. I don´t have any plans for today anyway. My daughter´s gotten sick, so I don´t get to spend Christmas with her after all."

"I´m sorry," Arthur said. "You must be very disappointed."

"A little, yes." He wouldn´t even admit to himself just how much. "So, Arthur- why did you try to call Martin in the first place?"

"Oh, I was doing the shopping the other day and there was a woman who was collecting money for the RSPCA, and she had a poster of a sad-looking dog. And I walked 'round all day wondering who the dog was reminding me of. You know, of course I thought of Snoopadoop first because she is a dog as well, but she looks nothing like the dog on the picture. He was more of a Labrador with big ears and smooth fur, but Snoopadog- well, you know what she looks like. And then I realized that the dog reminded me of Martin."

"Why?"

"Because he looked just as sad lately, so I tried to call him. To cheer him up, you know."

The worst part of this was that Douglas knew exactly what his friend meant. "You know what, Arthur," he said after another moment of stunned silence, "I´ll come by. Stay where you are, I´ll be there in ten minutes."

* * *

The house seemed abandoned when they approached the front door, and no one responded to the doorbell. Douglas looked at the van, then turned back to Arthur: "Do you know how to open a door with a credit card?"

"No!"

"Too bad, neither do I."

Arthur seemed torn between excitement and fear: "Douglas, we can´t just break in."

"But maybe Martin´s injured."

"Right..."

They went around the house and tried their luck with the back door, to no avail.

"We can either phone the janitor, who will not thank us to be called out on Christmas Eve, or we can break this small glass panel to get in. Look at the house, it will hardly make a difference." Douglas looked at Arthur, who was chewing on his lip again.

 

After a few minutes of weighing the pros and cons (Arthur), they finally broke the glass (Douglas). The house was cold and silent, and Douglas didn´t really expect to find anyone in there, but he was glad to be occupied, to distract himself from thinking about his daughter too much.

It was hard to believe that Martin really lived here; the whole house was run-down, and though it was relatively clean and not too messy, it clearly wasn´t made for permanent residence. Three years, fine, but nine? How did he stand it?

Slowly, they climbed the steep stairs up to Martin´s attic room. Arthur knocked before opening the door, which wasn´t locked. Up there the air seemed even colder, the roof probably wasn´t insulated well.

The room was as dingy as the rest of the house, if meticulously tidy. There were a shelf full of books and a small table, but as soon as Douglas´ gaze fell on the bed, he momentarily forgot about them. Someone was lying in said bed, and upon closer inspection, it sure enough turned out to be Martin.

* * *

Martin had been asleep; when he came to, he wished he hadn´t, for he felt as though someone had used him as a punching ball. His whole body was aching, but his head was the worst. There was an unpleasant ringing in his ears, his nose was clogged and his face hurt. He was still feeling uncomfortably hot and had sweated a lot; his shirt and pyjama pants clung to his body. He shivered in the cold air where he wasn´t covered by his blanket.

He didn´t know what had woken him; maybe the cough which had developed during the night. He had woken up a few times to drink a bit of water, and each time had been unable to find a remotely comfortable sleeping position afterwards; his body had never felt so alien before.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment he was disoriented, wondering where he was, but then he recognized his First Officer.

"Douglas," he croaked, prompting another cough. "H-how- what´re you-"

"Better not speak," Douglas said, obviously worried. "Martin, for how long have you been this sick?"

"Don´t know... which day´s it?" His eyes were bright with fever, and he was ghastly pale. He flinched when Douglas pressed the back of his hand against Martin´s temple, but the other man´s skin was wonderfully cool, bringing a little relief.

"You´re burning up," Douglas murmured, then, realizing he had yet to answer Martin´s questions, made an effort to pull himself together.

Arthur was quicker than him, however: "It´s Christmas Eve," he said, but apart from that, he was uncharacteristically quiet: all the cheer had gone from him as he beheld his ill friend.

"Yesterday, I think..." Martin coughed, but before Douglas or Arthur could say anything else, their friend´s already ashen face turned rather green, and it seemed that the coughing all of a sudden was turning into retching.

Douglas shook his head in concern, while looking around for anything which might suffice as a bucket: Martin really didn´t do anything by half.

**To Be Continued**

Thank you for reading. Please leave some feedback. **  
**  



	3. Chapter 3

 

**Cabin Pressure:**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 3  
**

Arthur, who had so far been standing as still as a deer caught in the headlights, sprang into action, grabbed a bin from under the table and thrust it right under Martin´s heaving, shaking form.

It was all Douglas could do to keep the ill man from keeling over; gently yet with a firm grip he held Martin´s upper body and kept him in a remotely upright position. He could feel Martin´s ribcage through his damp t-shirt, the tremor in his body, and felt very bad for his friend.

When the bout was over, Martin sagged. He had expelled the meagre contents of his stomach and bile, and Arthur quickly went to rinse the bin, which luckily had only held a bit of paper.

 

Douglas eased Martin back onto his pillow and helped him drink some water; there had been an half-empty glass on the nightstand.

"Thank you," Martin´s voice was hoarse.

"You´re welcome," Douglas replied. "I´m so sorry, Martin."

"What´re you doing here?" Martin coughed again, as though the words were catching in his throat.

"We couldn´t get you on the phone, and when we saw that the van was here, we broke in to check on you."

If Martin hadn´t been so dazed by his fever, he would have been touched by his friends´ care; as it was, he was mainly embarrassed that they had witnessed such an unsavoury moment.

"I´ll be fine, just need to rest," he murmured.

Douglas shook his head: "You can´t stay here, Martin. It´s too cold and you obviously are very ill. You shouldn´t be on your own."

 

Martin´s head hurt and he was still feeling nauseous. He didn´t feel up to making any decisions, and besides, he didn´t know where to go.

"You´re coming with us," Douglas said firmly before Martin could answer, taking the choice off his friend, "you can stay in my guestroom."

Martin weakly shook his head: "Can´t, Douglas... it´s Christmas."

"Exactly. Consider it my Christmas gift to you."

"But Jessie-"

"-isn´t coming over because she´s fallen ill as well. Which is quite the coincidence, don´t you think?"

 

Arthur came back in, putting the clean bin next to the bed. "Are you feeling any better, Skip?" he asked quietly.

Martin tried to reassure him but ended up coughing again.

Douglas caught Arthur´s gaze and nearly imperceptibly shook his head no. "We´re going to take Martin with us," he said in an undertone. "I´m not leaving him here."

He really was rather appalled by the shoddiness of Martin´s lodgings; he hadn´t expected it to be this bad.

Loudly, he said: "Let´s get you dressed, Martin, and we´ll pack a few of your things if you don´t mind."

Martin didn´t want to leave his warm bed, and he was aware that he had sweated so much he was smelling badly. "I´d rather stay here," he murmured. "It´s too cold outside."

"But Skip, in here it´s also cold," Arthur piped up, "and you´ll be all alone if you stay, on Christmas!"

Martin didn´t respond, he just huddled deeper into his blanket.

"Martin, please," Douglas spoke more insistently now. "We can as well call an ambulance, seeing the state you´re in."

Douglas, Martin realized even with his fever-addled mind, was capable of doing exactly that. Shakily, he pushed himself into a sitting position: "Fine. But I need to wash first," he croaked stubbornly.

Arthur looked as though he was about to say something, but Douglas silenced him with a look; it was definitely advisable to have Martin put on something fresh and, more importantly, dry, before he went outside. The last thing he needed was to catch an additional chill, and apart from that, he´d simply feel better.

"Okay. Arthur- can you help Martin? I´ll pack some of his clothes in the meantime. I assume everything´s in the wardrobe?"

Martin nodded: "Thanks," he said feebly, realizing that there was no point in protesting. Arthur helped him to get up, seemingly oblivious to the smell of sickness. But that was Arthur for you: he might not be the smartest mind under the sun, but he was loyal, and his will to help whomever needed him was genuine. And he was patient.

 

Martin barely managed to get his legs under him and wouldn´t have been able to walk unsupported for the world was spinning around him, but Arthur rather casually slung one of the captain´s arms around his shoulder to be able to hold him up, and gripped Martin firmly around the midriff.

"That´s it, Skip, one foot after the other. You´re doing great," he said encouragingly, but Douglas perceived that Arthur was actually forcing himself to appear his cheerful self in order to set his charge at ease. He clearly was very worried.

In the bathroom, Arthur made Martin sit down on the edge of the tub where he could lean against the shower cubicle, then he wetted a flannel, put soap on it and gave it to Martin, who was slowly getting out of his shirt. After putting a towel next to where Martin was sitting, together with a change of clothes Douglas had quickly dug out, Arthur left the room to give his friend some privacy.

If Martin had been up to it, he´d have strongly objected to being treated like someone from a nursery home; he was feeling so dizzy and was trembling so hard however that he was glad to have made it to the bathroom at all. He was sure Douglas would make fun of him because of this later, but presently he didn´t care. Undressing, washing and redressing took up all of his remaining energy, and when he was finished, he couldn´t get up on his own.

Arthur, who had been waiting right outside the bathroom door, hurried in when Martin called him; it took three attempts to get Martin to and keep him up on his feet, and the moment he was upright, the nausea became so intense that he began retching again.

After a few minutes of dry heaving, the bout was over and left the captain trembling on the floor; Arthur, who couldn´t hold him any longer, partly because he was afraid Martin might black out, partly because he was shaking himself, gently propped his friend up against the wall: "Skip. Skip, look at me?" He was slightly panicked, though just as before, he tried not to show it.

Martin, whose eyes were streaming from the bodily effort, breathed out shudderingly: "´s okay," he mumbled.

"I´ll be right back, Skip." Arthur slowly got up from the crouched position he had taken, "I´ll go and get Douglas to help."

 

Martin leaned his forehead against the tub, grateful for the coldness; he didn´t want Arthur and Douglas to see him like this. He knew there was no need to feel as ashamed as he did, yet he didn´t think he could get anywhere on his own with the way he was feeling, let alone manage the stairs. All he wanted was to be back in bed, but at least the vomiting had stopped. He closed his eyes, wishing he would wake up and find out it all had only been a dream.

At one point, Douglas was talking to him, but Martin couldn´t be bothered to fully wake up. He was too tired altogether, and the heat around his temples was too oppressive.

Then there was additional warmth, a blanket which was being wrapped around him, and he was being pulled to his feet again. It was easier this time, four strong hands were holding him. There was nausea again, but not as bad as before. Somehow, he walked, and it was a relief to know that he couldn´t fall.

He was vaguely aware of sitting in a car, of motion, of having to walk again. And then he was finally allowed to lie down. People were talking to him and once he felt a prick in his arm, but it didn´t really hurt and he was only glad to be allowed to drift off to sleep again.

**To Be Continued**

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Cabin Pressure:**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 4  
**

Douglas stood leaning against the doorframe to his guestroom, watching Martin sleep. He was still white-faced and looked wretched, but he´d hopefully be feeling better soon. Seeing him so ill and dazed was scary, and Douglas wouldn´t have expected it to affect him so strongly.

Arthur had been even more distraught, but the doctor whom Douglas had called seemed to have reassured him. It had been an old pal from university, back in the days when Douglas had been a medical student. They had kept contact on a fairly regular basis, which had come in handy on this very day. Geoffrey had been there within half an hour, and it was as Douglas had guessed: Martin had the flu, a severe case, not simply a bad cold.

"The vomiting has very likely been stemming from his inner ear being affected by the infection," Geoffrey had explained to Douglas and an anxious Arthur, "which is causing vertigo, which in turn leads to nausea."

He had given Martin an injection for the nausea and written a prescription for antibiotics, antipyretics and cough drops. The rest was common knowledge: make sure he keeps warm, drinks a lot of liquids, eats something. Keep an eye on his temperature.

"Be careful that he doesn´t take the pills on an empty stomach. And if he isn´t getting any better within the next two days, call me again," Geoffrey said when he left. "Merry Christmas."

Arthur had offered to go and get the prescriptions as well as some stuff from the shops; Douglas hadn´t done the shopping yet when his ex-wife called him about his daugther, and he hadn´t bothered to afterwards. But now that he had a task, things were looking up. At least he wasn´t going to be alone, now that Helena had moved in with her Tai Chi teacher.

 

It was getting dark outside; Douglas went into the room and turned on the lamp on the nightstand, then he sat down on the edge of the bed. He wondered to which extent Martin would be terrified later on, embarrassed by a situation he hadn´t had any control over. Douglas hoped that his friend would be able to accept the whole matter as a friendly turn which had nothing to do with their professional relationship.

His thoughts turned to Jessie once more, and from her to Mary Ann, who had been his first wife; of course he had disappointed her numerous times, and he sort of understood why she kept her distance. But he didn´t see why she didn´t trust him to sufficiently care for his daughter; she had a cold, nothing as dire as Martin´s illness from what Mary Ann had told him.

Jessie was only supposed to have stayed for two bloody nights, he would certainly have managed. He missed her; usually, he was very good at hiding it, at suppressing the thought that his little girl was growing up without him being a daily presence in her life. On the days on which he didn´t manage too well, he barricaded himself behind an armour of sarcasm. It wasn´t good, but it was better than drinking his worries away. He never wanted to go back to that, since he knew that he would very likely never see Jessie again if he relapsed into alcoholism.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to Martin. A few strands of hair were plastered to his clammy forehead, and he occasionally coughed in his sleep. Apart from that, he lay still, his features tense and as ashen as before.

Douglas pulled the duvet up a little further and tucked it more thoroughly around his friend´s bony shoulders, then he got up and went to get a cloth and a bit of water; his mother had used to cool his forehead when he had been ill, and he still remembered how good it felt.

* * *

Arthur was standing in the queue at Sainsbury´s, surrounded by last-minute shoppers. He once more checked the list Douglas had given him, making sure he hadn´t forgotten anything.

He tried not to think about Martin, or at least not about how they had found him. Skip had looked so terribly sick, Arthur´s heart clenched at the notion that he had been alone like that and would still be, hadn´t he and Douglas interfered. And he was quite glad that Douglas had broken the window.

He flinched when his phone rang; it was his mother.

"We are back," she said, "It´s a quarter to six, where are you?"

"I´m at Sainsbury´s," Arthur replied, trying not to speak too loud so as not to disturb the people around him.

"What _\- today_? Why didn´t you go yesterday, or on the day before, as you said?"

"I did! I got everything you wrote on the list, but something happened."

Carolyn hesitated only minutely: "Why, what do you mean?"

Arthur pushed the trolley a little further: "You know how I went shopping the other day? Well, there was a woman who was collecting money for the-"

Carolyn interrupted him: "Arthur dear, a few less details."

Arthur paused; he had been taught to begin at the beginning if he told someone something, and it was more difficult to cut down to the important bits if people didn´t know the circumstances.

But on the other hand, Mum knew Martin and where he lived and that he didn´t get paid- of course she knew _that_ , so he really _could_ make it short: "Douglas and I broke into Martin´s house because the sad dog reminded me of him- Skip, not Douglas- and he was alone and very ill. The doctor said if he doesn´t get better in the next two days, we might need to call him again."

"Er." Carolyn tried to make sense of it. "Martin is ill and Douglas is with him?"

"Yes."

"And you are out shopping for him?"

"For Douglas, yes, because he hasn´t done any shopping yet, because Jessie´s not coming. She´s ill as well, you see."

"Wait, wait. Why are you shopping for _Douglas_ then?"

Arthur subdued a sigh; usually, his mum was very good at understanding him, but she didn´t seem to catch up. "Because Martin couldn´t stay alone and now he is at Douglas´ house and Douglas hasn´t done the shopping."

"Oh! I see."

"Mum, I really need to call off now, I´ll be at the till next."

"When are you coming home?"

"I don´t know, I´ll call you if it´s getting late."

"What, so you won´t be home for dinner tonight? On Christmas Eve?"

Arthur felt bad about it, but he was too worried about Martin: "I´m sorry, Mum, I know it´s tradition, but Martin´s really ill," he said, "he couldn´t even stand without help, and he was kind of... what´s the word with 'l' if someone´s slow and unresponsive?"

"Lethargic?"

"Yes, that. I´d rather stay with him, see if I can help."

Carolyn relented; it did sound serious enough after all. "All right. Call me if you need anything. And say hello to the other two, will you? Especially Martin."

"Thanks, I will- bye Mum!"

After she had rung off, Carolyn shook her head; who´d have thought. She hadn´t expected anything less from Arthur, but Douglas... who´d have thought indeed.

* * *

When Arthur arrived at Douglas´ house, Douglas was still sitting with Martin, who had been completely unresponsive even when his friend had applied the cold cloth to his forehead. Douglas was glad about Arthur´s presence; not that he wasn´t able to cope, but it was nice to have help.

_Which speaks in favour of families_ , he thought, sadly. _Not being alone in a situation like this does have quite the appeal, after all_.

Arthur looked flustered. "How is he doing?" he asked, peering into the guestroom.

"Not terribly good," Douglas said quietly, getting to his feet. "Come on, I´ll show you to the kitchen."

Arthur carefully put the bags down on the counter:"My mum just called. She says hello."

"Oh, are they back?" Douglas kept his tone neutral, and Arthur being Arthur didn´t notice that he was biting his tongue not to say something unfriendly. Now that Herc seemed to be a rather inherent part in Carolyn´s – and therefore also Arthur´s – life, the first officer tried not to let it on that it nettled him. What exactly, he couldn´t say, it just did.

Silently, they took the groceries out of the bags and Douglas began to put them away. Arthur had indeed managed not to forget anything, which was a plus and a first.

"Martin needs to eat something, he can´t take the medicine on an empty stomach," Douglas murmured while he scanned the package inserts of the pills. "Okay, these first and those half an hour after each meal. I think for now we can make the exception not to wait that long."

"Do you think he´ll keep something down at all?" Arthur asked, still unusually subdued.

"I should hope so; he´s got a shot for it, after all."

Douglas mixed some Ginger Ale with water and opened a packet of lightly salted crackers which he put on a tray, together with the medication: "I´ll go and wake Martin. You look like you could do with some food as well, Arthur. What do you say I´ll whip us something up once I´m done here?"

"Yeah, I suppose that´d be good," Arthur consented, downcast.

"You can make yourself useful then and chop up some peppers and an onion. Cutting board's over there in the drawer, knife in the drawer above it."

"Yeah..."

Douglas had an inkling where this was coming from, but he postponed dealing with it till later; first, he had to take care of their patient.

* * *

Martin didn´t wake up easily; he was confused and needed a moment to find his bearings.

"You´re in my house," Douglas said, "a doctor saw you and confirmed that you have the flu."

Martin blinked: "A doctor?" His voice was very hoarse. Douglas regretted having had to wake him, but on the other hand, Martin would very likely go back to sleep in an instant, and his shirt was already slightly damp again, he´d be better off once he had ingested some food and the appropriate medicine.

"An old friend of mine," Douglas explained, "known him for thirty years."

"Thank you," Martin croaked, "I´ll pay you back for everything..."

"Stop worrying about that for now. You need to eat a little, so you can take something for the infection and the fever," Douglas said.

"Can´t eat," Martin groaned, because he was still feeling nauseous.

"Let´s just give it a try," Douglas said gently, "maybe you´re also nauseous because your stomach is empty."

Martin doubted that, but contradicting Douglas seemed too much effort, and he really was keen on taking whichever pills Douglas had for him if only they were going to make him better; the Ibuprofen didn´t seem to have helped. He just hoped that the other pills hadn´t been too expensive.

"Can you sit up?" Douglas asked.

Martin managed to push himself into a remotely upright position, but he was shaking all over. Douglas sat down next to him and handed him the glass; Martin took a few tentative sips at first, but then he drank the rest as well, realizing how thirsty he was. He ate a few crackers, and when after ten minutes his stomach hadn´t protested and the nausea had indeed lessened slightly, Douglas got up to get some more water, and handed him the pills.

Martin was utterly relieved to be able to lie down again afterwards.

Douglas stayed with him for a while longer, wanting to make sure that his friend was all right for the moment. If Martin minded, he didn´t let it on. His blood-shot eyes closed almost of their own account, and he didn´t react when Douglas dabbed at his forehead with the cold cloth once more.

Soon, his breathing evened out, only interrupted by the occasional cough.

**To Be Continued**

**Author´s notes:** I have made the names of Douglas´first wife and his daughter up. So far they haven't been mentioned in the series, at least not to my knowledge.

Thank you all for reading!

 


	5. Chapter 5

If you have listened to "Wokingham", you know that Martin´s family is not horrible at all (at least not his mum - LOVED her!), so in this regard, this story can be considered AU.

 

**Cabin Pressure:**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 5  
**

 

 

When Douglas returned to the kitchen a little later, Arthur had cut the vegetables as instructed and was sitting at the kitchen counter, shoulders hunched.

Douglas set the tray down: "Arthur?"

Arthur tried to smile but failed miserably; he wouldn´t have fooled Douglas anyway.

"He´ll be fine," Douglas said. "I know you´re worried, as am I. But the medicine will help him, along with sleep and some proper meals. He´ll be back on his feet in no time."

"I know," Arthur said, not looking convinced, "that´s not... I mean... I didn´t know it was _this_ bad."

"What was?"

"How he lives. I know Mum can´t pay him, but... it´s horrible, Douglas. How does he do it?"

"Yes," Douglas conceded tiredly, "I´ve been thinking the same. I always thought he was exaggerating a little in order to maybe change Carolyn´s mind. But we´ve been stupid, Arthur."

"We? You mean, _you_ as well?"

"It pains me to say it, but yes, absolutely." Douglas sighed. "Me as well. I mean, just one proper look at him tells you all you need to know, really." If you care enough, his mind added sardonically.

"Really?"

"Of course. He´s not a picky eater and usually finishes everything he gets, but he´s still thin as a stick. Furthermore, all his clothes are rather worn. The cardigan he puts on in the portacabin when it´s cold? It´s been mended several times, and his shoes must be paper thin from all the polishing. And I guess he cuts his own hair, too. Which remains largely unnoticed because it´s curly, mind you, but still goes to show-"

Arthur couldn´t contain himself any longer: "And you got all that from the way he looks? Wow, Douglas! You´re like Miss Marple again!"

"Thank you," Douglas said, reminding himself that he was dealing with Arthur and therefore, to be patient: "If anything, I´d rather be Hercule Poirot."

"Right!" Arthur grinned, but then he remembered the initial topic of their conversation again: "So what can we do about it?" he asked, unhappily. "Do you think _you_ could change Mum´s mind, Douglas?"

"I doubt that," Douglas said, mindful of what Carolyn had told him about her financial situation.

"Let´s worry about it later though," he added, "I´m hungry now. Aren´t you?"

"Yes. A little." Arthur dropped his chin into his hand: "It doesn´t feel like Christmas, does it?"

Boy, he really was the opposite of cheery tonight.

"No," Douglas consented hesitantly, "not really. Maybe if we put a bit of tinsel on the tree-"

"You´ve got a _tree_?" Arthur sat up straight, his voice hitching.

"Well, yes. It´s the only thing I got rather early, since I knew Jessie was coming and usually, the best ones are sold out by the time Christmas rolls around."

"Where is it?"

"In the living room. It´s through that archway." Douglas motioned with his head. He hadn´t bothered to decorate the tree, but maybe it would indeed put Arthur in a better mood.

The younger man went to have a look: "Douglas, it´s brilliant!"

Douglas smiled: "Help yourself, the tinsel and stuff is in those boxes over there."

* * *

Half an hour later, Douglas was putting the finishing touches on the vegetable-and-chicken stew he had made while Arthur had transformed the fir into a Christmas tree. He had opened every box like a child opening presents, his obvious delight not only audible but also visible. He looked delirious with excitement and kept singing carols under his breath.

Douglas lit a fire in the wood-burning stove, and they ate their meal in the living room. The tree did add a festive touch, Douglas had to admit, even though the whole affair was still far from how he´d imagined it. At least he wasn´t alone now, and there was worse company than Arthur. True, the conversation lacked a certain depth, but it was so much better than battling the urge to drive to the nearest garage and buy some Stolichnaya.

Of course, there was one bottle of very fine 25-years-old Talisker on the top shelf of the pantry, but that one was reserved for emergencies of a different kind. And Douglas didn´t feel the need for a drink tonight, which was a blessing: having company made all the difference.

 

For pudding, Douglas made hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in it (mainly for Arthur´s sake), then they sat down on the couch with it, admiring the tree.

"I wish it would snow," Arthur said longingly, "you need snow on Christmas to make it feel right, don´t you think?"

Douglas raised one eyebrow: "I got the impression that it´s all the traditions which are putting you in the festive mood. I distinctly remember that there were a stocking and a fruitcake involved."

"Yes, but that was when we were flying to Hawaii! Now we´re at home, and it´s cold outside, so there should be snow. And robins. There are always robins on the postcards."

"Yeah," Douglas chuckled.

They sat in silence for a while, then Douglas went to look in on Martin.

He was sleeping quietly, half lying on his side; he coughed a few times in his sleep, but didn´t wake up from it.

* * *

"Douglas," Arthur asked when they were putting their plates into the dishwasher a while later, "how _much_ later are we going to worry about Martin´s problems again?"

Douglas paused: "Why?"

Arthur shrugged: "It´s just that... it´s Christmas, and imagine if we hadn´t gone looking for him. He´d still be alone in that cold attic room. I was thinking... Mum and I have got a really big house, you see, and it´s warm and comfortable and maybe he could come live with us?"

Even though Douglas was touched by Arthur´s concern for their friend, he was certain that the idea of having Martin moving in with them would meet the same resistance from Carolyn as paying him.

"I´m not sure he´d want that," he said, deliberately slow as if he had to think about it for a moment, "you know how awfully proud Martin is. He doesn´t want to appear incapable of looking after himself."

Arthur shrugged again: "Yeah... maybe you´re right." He began to chew on his lip.

Douglas, who was fairly sure what was coming next, inwardly counted down: 3- 2- 1-

"Douglas," Arthur continued accordingly, "couldn´t Martin live here with you then?"

The older man shrugged: "I can offer it to him, of course, but I think it´d be the same thing. He is going to be appalled enough by all this as it is."

It took him another ten minutes to make Arthur understand _why_ Martin was very likely going to be tremendously ashamed about the current situation.

"I´ll tell him he doesn´t have to be," Arthur eventually said, confidently. "I mean, he´s seen _me_ after I´ve had peach Schnaps, after all."

This had Douglas smile: "True."

Arthur rubbed his hands: "Right... I´m sorry, but I think I should go. It´s after ten, so... Mum´s probably waiting for me. Unless you need me to help-" He seemed doubtful as to whether he should really leave.

Douglas shook his head in order to reassure him: "Thank you, Arthur. You´ve been... well, brilliant, but I´m sure Martin is going to sleep through the night. I´ll manage."

"Okay."

* * *

Arthur left shortly after, promising to come back on the following morning.

Douglas looked in on his ill friend once more, but everything was as quiet as before, so he went back into the living room and turned the telly on. Without Arthur, the house seemed a lot emptier all of a sudden. Douglas sometimes wished he had a dog; he had a dog when he was a boy and still remembered it fondly.

Due to the nature of his job though, he was away too frequently, and often also rather long, and unlike Carolyn, he didn´t have neighbours who´d be willling to pet-sit. Apart from the fact that Douglas wouldn´t want the poor animal to spend more time with strangers than with him. So he´d have to get used to being alone.

 

He was halfway through the Blackadder Christmas Carol when he thought he heard something. He listened attentively, turning off the sound; there it was again, coming from the direction of the guest room. Swiftly, Douglas got to his feet and went to investigate.

The bed was empty. After a moment of comprehension, Douglas entered the room and found Martin on the floor. He had evidently thrown up again and was trying to push himself up on his arms in order to sit up.

"Martin," Douglas hurriedly knelt down next to him, grabbing him under the shoulders and gently supporting him until he was remotely upright, feebly hugging himself.

"´m sorry, Douglas," he slurred, his voice choked. "I tried to get up-"

"It´s okay," Douglas said, as soothingly as possible, ignoring the sour smell. Martin was shaking badly; there were vomit stains on his shirt, and he was completely soaked with sweat again. He was leaning against Douglas heavily, clearly unable to keep himself up.

"No, ´s not-" Martin protested, but Douglas cut him off: "Are you still nauseous?"

"Not 's much as before," the younger man ground out, which sounded very much like a yes to his friend.

"Okay, let´s get you to the bathroom." Douglas helped Martin to his feet and just as before, rather carried than supported him. In the small bathroom, he eased him down onto the floor so that he could lean against the tub of the shower, which was conveniently near the toilet, just in case.

 

They cleaned him up a bit and changed his shirt; they had to pause twice because Martin began retching again, though it was mostly bile which came out. Douglas suspected that this had nothing to do with the initial nausea which had been triggered by the ear, but simply meant that Martin´s stomach was still upset from earlier.

Douglas tried to feed him water with a little bit of Ginger Ale, but it took several attempts until the nausea abated and anything stayed down, meaning that they spent a long time in the bathroom, sitting next to each other between the bouts. Martin was coughing occasionally and shivering violently from exhaustion and the contractions which came with the vomiting, and Douglas kept talking to him quietly, trying to distract him. He supported him after each bout, holding his shoulders so that he wouldn´t sway and get dizzy again, and made him drink in frequent intervals.

Martin was feeling absolutely wretched, but he didn´t want to take up Douglas´ offer to go back to bed and use a bucket; not when Douglas would have to clean it out every time. He could get through this; at least there weren´t any students to share the bathroom with.

He shivered more severely because he was getting cold. The source of warmth at his side which was Douglas momentarily disappeared, and when it returned, Douglas had brought a blanket which he put around his friend´s shoulders.

* * *

Martin lost track of time a little, but at one point, he could feel a warm hand on his arm: "Nothing happened for a while now," Douglas said gently, "you really should get back into bed, Martin."

He complied this time, too knackered to do otherwise, and apart from that, the nausea had indeed lessened a little. It was a relief to lie down again, even propped up against a few pillows as he was, and close his eyes. On top of everything, his upper body now ached from the cramps, he felt sore and bruised, and his throat was feeling even worse than before. He shuddered a few times, the tremors being part of the aftermath. He couldn´t remember having ever felt so bad.

He lay still, trying not to think, but it was impossible. He could hear Douglas moving about the small room quietly while he cleaned up the puddle of vomit from earlier. Martin felt the shame burning on his cheeks, there was nothing he could do about it. He would probably have to find a new job after this. He should have stayed at home, really.

The thought would have made him cringe, had he had the strength; anywhere was better than the attic room. Anywhere, even if it meant being at Douglas´ mercy. At least the older man was saving it for later, and had been nothing but kind and lenient so far, at least as much as Martin could remember. Well, their relationship _had_ changed over the years. And maybe Douglas had felt lonely on Christmas...

With these thoughts in his dazed mind, Martin doze off. He was startled awake again when the mattress dipped.

"I´m sorry," Douglas said softly, "you can go back to sleep in a sec. But you should drink some more first."

Martin forced his eyes to open; Douglas had found a straw, which made it much easier to drink. He managed half the glass, then feebly pushed the other´s hand away: "Thank you," he murmured. "Sorry ´bout all this."

Douglas, who was eyeing him sympathetically, shrugged: "I´m sure you didn´t _choose_ to get sick." He put the glass on the nightstand: "Try to sleep, Martin. I´ll be here in case it gets worse again."

With a small groan, Martin closed his eyes: "If it does, please kill me," he muttered.

Douglas, who for once couldn´t think of a witty reply which would have been appropriate, found Martin´s hand and squeezed it: "I will."

Martin sighed, but didn´t open his eyes again.

**To Be Continued**

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you all for reading and giving feedback, I highly appreciate it!

 

**Cabin Pressure:**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 6  
**

 

 

Martin´s rest lasted roughly half an hour, then the cough woke him again. It was painful because of his now very sore throat, and his chest hurt. He was not entirely lucid, but he did turn onto his side when Douglas suggested it, hoping it might bring a little relief.

* * *

When Arthur rang the doorbell the next morning, a little after eleven, he was greeted with the sight of a very dishevelled, tired looking First Officer.

"Merry Christmas!" Arthur said, a little worriedly, "I hope I didn't wake you up, Douglas?"

Douglas beckoned him in: "Merry Christmas. No,don´t worry, you didn't. Jessie did when she called me a few minutes ago."

"Oh, did she? Brilliant! How is she?"

"She certainly sounds like she´s got a clogged nose, but she says she´s doing much better already."

"That´s good! But Douglas- you look all ruffly!"

Douglas ran a hand through his hair:"Well, when I said _I´m sure Martin´s going to sleep through the night_ I was sadly mistaken." He yawned. "Sorry. Anyway, neither of us has gotten much sleep."

"Oh, Douglas. I´m so sorry!" Arthur´s face fell.

"It´s okay," Douglas yawned again as he led the way to the kitchen, "he´s sleeping now, and I can take a nap later on."

"Yeah, yeah, you can!" Arthur perked up a little again, "I´m here now, I can take care of Martin. And Mum´s going to come over too!"

"What? Really?"

"Yes. She´s a bit worried, you see."

"I... see." If anyone would have told Douglas the same five years ago, he´d probably have laughed, but things had changed. Carolyn was more lenient towards Martin, it seemed, ever since she had found out about the way he lived. Or rather, the way he struggled, most of the time anyway.

"Want some coffee, Arthur?"

"No, thanks! I just had a ginormous breakfast! But can I go and see how Skip´s doing?"

"Sure," Douglas yawned again, "try not to wake him, though."

"I´ll be really quiet," Arthur promised, and sneaked out. Douglas looked at his retreating back and smiled.

 

Martin was still lying on his side when Arthur peeked into the room, barely visible from the door. Arthur tiptoed around the bed and paused; Skip looked awful, ashen-faced and haggard and very exhausted. The fever didn´t seem to be completely gone yet, the tell-tale red hues on his cheeks were still there.

He seemed to be sleeping soundly however, which had to be good, because Mum always said that sleep was the best medicine. He didn´t know why Martin hadn´t gotten much sleep during the night, but at least he was catching up on it now.

Douglas was making himself some scrambled eggs on toast when Arthur came back.

"I didn´t wake him," he said. "He looks worse than yesterday, though."

"Which is no surprise, really," Douglas murmured, sitting down, "considering what he´s been through." He told Arthur what had transpired during the night, leaving out some of the details.

Arthur sat with his chin in his hand, looking worried again: "So the shot didn´t work, then?"

Douglas shook his head: "I think it was a different kind of nausea." Cautiously, he explained what he meant, and Arthur finally nodded understandingly. "Poor Skip," he said, "one kind of nausea really is enough, if you ask me."

* * *

Carolyn stood in her kitchen, chopping up vegetables. Herc, who had been reading the newspaper, came in and looked over her shoulder: "What are you doing?"

Carolyn´s tone was clipped:"I´m making soup."

"Soup."

"Yes, soup! Broth, vegetables, tiny noodles in the shape of letters."

"Er- _why_ are you making soup? We're going to _Le Rouet_ later, if you remember."

"I know! It´s for Martin."

"Oh. Really? I see. Well, that´s- very nice of you." After a moment´s hesitation, he began to turn up his sleeves: "Need a hand?"

Carolyn turned round: "You want to help me cut the vegetables? Why?"

Herc sighed, a long-suffering expression on his face: "Because I´d like to. No hidden agenda."

"Fine." Carolyn nodded at the potatoes: "You can start peeling these."

"Aye, sir." Herc muttered under his breath, grinning as he received a shove against the shoulder.

* * *

Douglas had finished his breakfast and was sleepily listening to Arthur, who was excitedly telling him about the Christmas morning he´d had so far, and about the presents which had been exchanged.

"And Herc gave me a new hat- it´s much nicer than my old hat, because it looks like a proper one. I mean, I liked my old hat, but Mum always made fun of me because of it, and now she can´t because it´s from Herc. And Herc _really_ liked the DVD Box set I gave him. It´s the complete first two seasons of 'Shaun the Sheep', you know? I wouldn´t even have known what to get him if Mum hadn´t tipped me off about it!"

Douglas, who vividly remembered Finn McCool the third, wisely didn´t comment on it. He got up instead: "Would you mind if I quickly went to have a shower?"

"No, not at all!" Arthur beamed at him: "Take your time, Douglas. If Martin needs anything, I´ll help him."

* * *

After Douglas had gone upstairs, Arthur sneaked back to Martin´s room. He had brought something for his friend which he now placed on top of the pillows. Then he stood silently for a moment.

After he had convinced himself that Martin did look as okay as possible in the circumstances, he slowly backed away again. Unfortunately, he wasn´t very familiar with the room yet, and therefore it came as a complete surprise when he collided with a chest of drawers.

The noise had Martin waking with a start. He was clearly disoriented at first, and pushed himself up on his arms: "What- Arthur?" he asked, his voice hoarse and very low.

"Yeah, it´s me, Skip, don´t you worry," Arthur hurriedly said, surreptitiously rubbing his back, "that was just me being clumsy, there are no burglars or anything."

Martin blinked: "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I´ll probably have a bruise, but then I´ve had worse- just like that time when I fell off the donkey in the circus. Though coming to think of it- that wasn´t actually so bad."

"Where´s Douglas?" Martin asked feebly, unable to process Arthur´s story at that moment.

"Oh, he´s having a shower. I was just checking on you, I´m so sorry to wake you!"

"It´s all right," Martin muttered, easing himself back down because sitting up didn´t feel too good, and his arms were trembling even from this little exertion.

Arthur cocked his head: "I´m _really_ sorry," he repeated, "is there anything I can do for you? Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you," Martin murmured, closing his eyes and coughing a few times. "Just... sleep."

Arthur nodded: "Okay," he whispered, "Mum always says sleep is the best medicine. Sleep well! Oh, and Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," Martin murmured, already on the verge of dozing off again.

Arthur looked at him and for some reason was suddenly very glad that his mum was going to come over.

* * *

"You really shouldn´t have," Douglas said by way of thanking Arthur for his Christmas present, eyeing the pair of socks the younger man had gotten him: they were striped in two different shades of blue and had cheery little aeroplanes on them, which even had smiling faces.

"Oh, but they are brilliant," Arthur said, "I think that one looks a bit like Gerti!"

"If she had a face, maybe," Douglas agreed. He wasn´t in the mood to argue, and anyway, it was the thought which counted, a notion which applied to Arthur rather often.

They were sitting in the living room again, since Arthur had wanted to see the tree in the daylight and also put Douglas´ and Martin´s presents under it.

"Would you like me to put yours under the tree as well?" Douglas asked.

Arthur beamed: "Oh yes, that would be brilliant!"

"Would it now, then I´ll do it. Just wait a moment while I go and get it."

Arthur was humming carols under his breath when Douglas returned a moment later, and his eyes widened when he saw the rather large package.

"Can I open it now?" he asked.

"Of course, right after I´ve put it under the tree," Douglas said. "There. Enjoy."

Arthur practically fell onto his knees and tore the paper off the present within seconds: "Wow! Douglas! A Lego Space Shuttle! How did you know!"

Douglas grinned:"I saw you ogling it at the airport in Tokyo," he replied, "and there was a friend who owed me a favour."

"Douglas, it´s brilliant! Thank you so much!"

 

The doorbell rang while Arthur was still admiring the pictures on the box. Douglas opened the front door to find himself face to face with a large pot. "Merry Christmas," it said, with Carolyn´s voice.

"Merry Christmas," Douglas held the door open wide, "do come in. I believe your friends, Sergeant Spoon and Mrs Ladle, are already in the kitchen."

"Har har," Carolyn said, "I do forget that my pilots do not even stop being funny at Christmas." She turned round to Douglas: "How´s my other pilot doing, by the way?"

"He had a bit of a rough night," Douglas said, "he´s sleeping now. Should I take that?" He pointed at the pot.

Carolyn shook her head: "No, thank you. It´s still warm, which is a blessing considering how cold it is today. It took forever to get the car sufficiently heated up."

"Didn´t Herc want to come?" Douglas asked as they went to the kitchen.

"No, for some reason, he didn´t fancy a tête-a-tête with my First Officer."

"Too bad. I´m sure _my_ tête would have won."

Carolyn ignored him:"What do you mean, rough night?" she asked, setting the pot down on the worktop.

"He spent a good deal of it in the bathroom, throwing up for a few hours," Douglas said, "followed by severe coughing well into the early morning. The fever´s not gone completely either. He´s rather worse for wear, really."

"Oh dear." Carolyn didn´t try to hide her concern. "Have you made him drink enough, Douglas?"

"Yes, I did. At least I tried. He couldn´t keep anything down at first."

"Did you apply VapoRub or poultices for the cough?"

"Er- I think Martin will be sufficiently appalled by all of this as it is, he most certainly wouldn´t appreciate it if I wrapped his chest in warm towels with questionable contents. And I´ve never heard of a cough poultice anyway."

"No, I expect not. Well, I´ll see about that."

"Carolyn- you´re not seriously going to suggest to Martin that he try poultices?"

"Why not?"

"The poor boy´s been through enough already."

"And he´ll be glad if the cough improves."

"He-" Douglas broke off. He knew Carolyn well enough by now to realize that she was pulling his leg.

"Shame on you, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey," he said, "joking at the expense of poor Martin."

But he grinned.

"Seriously, Douglas," Carolyn then said, "do you have anything to relieve the sore throat?"

"Well, I´ve got Strepsils, and chamomile tea," he said.

"Good, make some then, and put it in a thermos."

"Aye, Sir," Douglas muttered, putting the kettle on.

"Where is Martin?" Carolyn asked.

"I´ll show you." He led the way to the guestroom.

* * *

Carolyn was very quiet as she beheld Martin, who hadn´t moved much since Arthur had woken him, and looked dead to the world.

"We have to wake him up," she whispered eventually, "he needs to eat and drink something, so that he can take the medicine which the doctor´s prescribed him."

"You think so?" Douglas asked, doubtfully. "Shouldn´t we let him sleep?"

"I know I keep saying that sleep´s the best medicine. And he can sleep as long he wants afterwards," Carolyn argued, "but he needs to refuel a little. Look at him, he´s white as a sheet. He needs to get rid of the fever, Douglas, and take the antibiotics."

That was true, Douglas conceded. "But what if still can´t keep anything down? I don´t want to put him through another bout of... you know."

Carolyn chewed on her lip, lifting her chin determinedly: "If that should happen, we´ll call that doctor friend of yours. And you know what? I don´t give a damn whether it´s Christmas or not."

**To Be Continued**

Additional disclaimer and note: I neither own "Strepsils","VapoRub" nor Lego. There are two versions of the Lego Space Shuttle, and the one I had in mind for Arthur is the more adult version, called "Lego 10213 Shuttle Adventure" in case you want to google it.


	7. Chapter 7

 

**Cabin Pressure:**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 7  
**

 

 

Carolyn Knapp-Shappey was an unstoppable force if she put her foot down, which was something Douglas had learned early on after she had hired him. He had also learned not to stand in her way on such occasions, therefore he returned to the living room shortly after she had taken over the reigns concerning patient care.

Arthur was already deeply immersed in the Lego Shuttle´s construction manual, and Douglas, lacking a better idea, sat down and looked on over his friend´s shoulder.

* * *

Martin, who had indeed been fast asleep, woke from his own coughing. He couldn´t seem to stop; his throat and chest hurt, and each cough increased the pain, but there was nothing he could do, only hope that it would soon subside.

Carolyn had returned to the kitchen in order to heat up the soup and brew the tea when she heard the commotion. She quickly went back to the guest room to find Martin red-faced and coughing badly. His eyes were squeezed shut but evidently watering from the effort.

Martin flinched, startledly, when he felt a hand between his shoulderblades, and then there was Carolyn´s voice, telling him to breathe and that it would soon be over, and rubbing gentle circles on his back.

Martin´s eyes were streaming when the bout finally ceased, and he sagged, bonelessly, into the pillows.

"Carolyn," he croaked, "you didn´t have to come."

Carolyn tutted: "Of course I had to, silly, you´re my pilot! I do feel responsible for you, must be that darn maternal instinct. Now, can you sit up?"

Martin pushed himself onto his back and upright, still coughing a little. Carolyn handed him the glass of water and he drank, grateful for the momentary relief it brought.

"I have made you some soup," Carolyn then said, putting the glass back down on the nightstand, "which you should eat."

"I´m still queasy," Martin muttered.

"And that´s no surprise, since your stomach is empty," she replied with a lot more patience than usual. "But you need to get something into it so that you can take your pills."

That made sense, Martin conceded, but the idea of food nevertheless wasn´t very promising.

"We´ll give it a try," Carolyn suggested, "I´ll go and get you some."

Martin stared at her retreating back, wondering what had gotten into her.

 

Carolyn brought Martin a mug and sat down with him. He drank hesitantly, since the smell was increasing the queasiness, but when nothing happened after the first few sips, he managed nearly all of it.

"Thank you," he muttered when Carolyn set the mug down for him. "If it stays down, you can take the pills," she said, eyeing him attentively as he settled back into the pillows, relieved not to have to sit up any longer. But something was poking his back. He clumsily reached behind it and found an old, very loved-off stuffed dog.

"What is Silly Old Bear doing here?" Carolyn exclaimed.

"B-bear? It's a dog, isn't it?"

"Well, yes- it's Arthur´s. Long story. He eventually learned to tell the different animals apart." She turned the dog in her hands: "He must have brought him here for comfort."

"That's... very nice." Martin sounded almost astonished.

"Yes," Carolyn agreed, setting the dog onto the nightstand. "It is."

She smiled: "That's Arthur for you."

Martin hummed in agreement, closing his eyes for a moment. He was ever so tired.

Carolyn let him doze off; there was no point in keeping him awake for half an hour.

To her relief, Martin´s stomach seemed to agree with the soup; he was fast asleep again when she woke him a second time, despite the coughing, and didn't entirely come to; he only swallowed the pills with a few sips of water and then lay down again, immediately dozing off.

Carolyn looked at her watch; she had to leave in order to meet Herc at _Le Rouet._ With a sigh, she got to her feet; she'd come back later.

* * *

The Space Shuttle proved rather difficult to assemble for an Arthur Shappey, and at one point, Douglas found himself sitting next to his friend; what had begun as simply helping out actually turned into fun, much to his surprise.

"Doesn't Jessie play with Lego?" Arthur asked when Douglas told him so.

"Not really, no. She never warmed to it, she prefers Playmobil."

"I _love_ Lego."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed."

"But it's true, Douglas! I still have all my Lego in my room at home, and I sometimes build things just for fun. I built Gertie once, though Mum said I'd gotten the portions wrong."

"You mean the _pro_ portions?"

"Yeah, those too."

With a sigh, Douglas let it go: "I'll go and check on Martin."

His knees were creaking in protest as he got to his feet after nearly two hours of sitting on the floor, and he paused for a moment, stretching, before heading towards the guestroom.

 

Martin was still asleep, but he didn't look any better than before. He was huddled deeply into the covers as Carolyn had opened the window to let in some fresh air, and his skin was still pale and fever-flushed. Douglas didn't like how warm he felt despite the medication. He stirred when he felt the backs of Douglas' fingers on his temple, blinking a few times but not waking up.

"How is he?" Arthur immediately wanted to know when Douglas returned to the living room.

"Can't say," the older man replied. "It doesn't seem that he's approving. Though with the infection being so thorough, it might take a while until the medication takes effect."

Arthur nodded, looking downtrodden again.

"Hey, have you assembled the satellite yet?" Douglas asked in order to distract him.

* * *

When Arthur went to look in on Martin in the early evening, he found him in the bathroom, having thrown up again. How he'd made it there at all remained a mystery for the time being, since Martin had passed out after vomiting on the floor. He didn't even react when Arthur yelled for Douglas to come and help, and the First Officer found himself having to contend with two problems simultaneously: making sure Martin was able to breathe and preventing Arthur from hyperventilating.

"Arthur," Douglas said with a voice as firm as he could muster given the circumstances, after he had unsuccessfully tried to wake his ill friend,"I need you to help me. In order to do so, you have to calm down and concentrate."

Arthur, who was actually shaking, nodded, his eyes glued to Martin's unconscious form. Douglas had moved him into recovery position and was keeping one hand on his arm for mutual reassurance. "I need you get the phone, I am going to call Geoffrey. You remember Geoffrey, my friend."

"The d-doctor."

"Yes, the doctor. I've left his number by the phone in the hall."

"Okay." With one last look at Martin, Arthur went to get the phone and the slip of paper.

Geoffrey answered after the second ring; there was a considerable commotion in the background, which, he informed Douglas, was caused by his extended family.

"I'm sorry to bother you again and today of all days," Douglas said, "but Martin's gotten worse." He quickly told Geoffrey what had transpired since his visit, and the heavy silence which met Douglas after he had finished didn't bode well.

"I'd advise to have him admitted in the hospital," his old friend said. "It sounds as though he's in danger of dehydration on top of everything else., and the medication doesn't seem to be working." Which only confirmed what Douglas had already been fearing.

"So what, do I just call an ambulance?" he asked, unaware that his voice was trembling a little.

"I'll arrange that for you," Geoffrey offered. "I can well do with getting away from the hubbub for a while. I'll call the hospital and am going to meet with the transport at your house."

"Should I continue to try and rouse Martin?"

"As long as he's breathing and not in danger on choking, you don't have to. Just make sure to calm him down in case he wakes up."

"Okay. Thank you," Douglas replied, not at all his usual imperturbable self.

* * *

Martin however only regained consciousness in the ambulance. He was disoriented and dazed, his blood pressure very low. It was similar to how Douglas and Arthur had found him in his flat on the previous day.

Douglas, who had been allowed to ride in the ambulance with his friend, had been answering the paramedic's questions about Martin when the other paramedic, who was tending to the patient, had spoken up: "Mr Crieff, can you hear me?" This was obviously answered non-verbally, as the man continued in a somewhat satisfied voice: "You are in an ambulance. We are taking you to the hospital, you blacked out. Mr Richardson is here with you."

Douglas leaned sideways so that his friend could see him while the paramedic asked him questions and continued with the initial treatment; Martin didn't seem able to speak, and even with an oxygen mask which was covering most of his face, he looked exhausted. His eyes closed again before they had reached the hospital.

* * *

Carolyn had forced herself not to think about Martin all the time even though it was difficult. She didn't want to give Herc the impression that she didn't appreciate his being with her on Christmas, especially since she admittedly hadn't always treated him nicely during the past months.

She hadn't been able to fully relax in his presence at first; Gordon, that imbecile, had left her with a deep and lasting suspiciousness towards men's ulterior motives in general (Arthur excluded) and any man's interest for her in particular. It was also pathetic, but she wouldn't admit that. She couldn't deny that she enjoyed Herc's company, and it had scared her when they had started... to be in the same place rather often.

She didn't want to be depending on anyone ever again. Herc however seemed to like exactly that in her- her independence, her strength, her willpower. His affection was beginning to lose its threat after she had realized that, which really was quite nice.

After dining at _Le Rouet_ , they had driven home and spent a quiet afternoon in front of the fireplace, reading. One could do that with Herc, just sit and read, and Carolyn enjoyed that. Well, except that this afternoon, she hadn't really been able to concentrate on her book most of the time.

Just after tea, her phone had begun to ring, and when she had seen Arthur's number on the display, she had known something was wrong.

And now she was standing in an impossible long queue at the reception of Fitton Hospital's A&E and was ready to bite off someone's head. She had tried to call Arthur back to find out where they had taken Martin, but he hadn't picked up.

She nearly jumped when her phone began to vibrate, and quickly picked up.

"Mum!"

"Arthur!" Carolyn exclaimed, relieved. "Where are you?"

"Where are _you_?"

"Arthur. Don't make me shout."

"Sorry- we are on the fourth floor. I can come and get you."

"Yes, please do that. I'll be waiting in the A&E."

It took Arthur ten minutes to find Carolyn, as he got lost twice on the way.

"How is Martin?" Carolyn asked at once.

"They have admitted him straightaway," Arthur replied, "Dr Geoffrey was with us, which helped. He isn't really called Dr Geoffrey, of course, since that is his first name, but I don't know his last name and it seems a bit rude not to call him Doctor when I have only just met him."

Carolyn put one hand on her son's arm to stop the flow: "Arthur. Just take me there."

"Yes, Mum."

With rather heavy hearts, they walked towards the elevator.

**To Be Continued**


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you all for reading and your kind words/kudos!

**Cabin Pressure:**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 8  
**

By the time they arrived on the ward, Carolyn's ears were ringing. Arthur had a habit of talking even more than usual when he was nervous, and he managed to speak with double speed as well.

She was relieved to see Douglas, who was talking to two other men, one of them being a doctor, the other, as it turned out, "Dr Geoffrey".

"Are you Mr Crieff's mother?" the doctor asked just as Douglas was about to introduce Carolyn.

"Yes," she said without hesitation, drawing herself up to her full height.

In his peripheral vision, Douglas could see how Arthur opened his mouth (either to say "brilliant" or "but-") so he quickly turned towards him: "Arthur, did we lock the house behind us at all?" he asked. He'd explain about patient confidentiality and visitor's rights later. The distraction worked, however, as Arthur frowned: "I think you did, Douglas. I'm not quite sure though, since I was looking at the ambulance."

 

The doctor, whose name was Dr Jefferson, had in the meantime taken Carolyn aside: "Your son will be staying here for at least two nights. We'll keep him on intravenous antipyretics, analgesics and antihistamins to relieve the symptoms he's showing. Apart from that, we'll provide him with the necessary fluids in order to prevent him from further dehydration."

He frowned, tucking his chart away under his arm before continuing: "Mrs Crieff- I don't know if you are aware of it, but your son is severely underweight. The illness very likely wouldn't have progressed this far if he wasn't so thin. Does he have any history of anorexia, anything you're aware of?"

Carolyn felt as though someone had punched her. She struggled to find some words: "Well- he's always been on the scrawny side, but as far I as I know he isn't anorexic. He eats, and he works a lot." She tried to recall mental pictures of Martin from the summer, when he'd been wearing short-sleeved shirts. "He's very muscular."

"The fact remains that he's too thin," Dr Jefferson stated. "He needs to put on weight, and I would like to suggest counseling once he's doing better. We've got specialists whom he could talk to."

"Right..." All of a sudden, Carolyn wished Herc were there. He'd have known what to say, how to deal with the sudden realiziation that Martin was in hospital because the woman he was working for couldn't afford to pay to him and hadn't wasted any second thoughts on the matter, instead watching Martin struggling along and not caring at all. She should have seen he was too thin, should have noticed. Oh God, if Herc were there, he'd probably despise her.

Seeing that the old lady had tears in her eyes, Dr Jefferson decided not to press the matter right then. "You can go in and see him," he said, a little more gentle. "Visiting hours will be over at eight, so you've got some time left."

"Thank you," Carolyn fished a hanky out of her pocket and blew her nose; she felt awful.

* * *

As soon as the doctor had left, Douglas and Arthur joined her where she stood; Geoffrey had left in the meantime.

"Mum, what's wrong?" Arthur asked, paling.

"It's nothing, I'm just being silly," Carolyn muttered, dabbing at her eyes.

"Is Martin-"

"Martin will be fine."

Douglas, who had a sharper eye than many other people, turned to Arthur: "Why don't you go in first, see how Martin's doing."

Evidently torn between the wish to go and the worry about his mother, Arthur looked from Carolyn to the door of Martin's room and back.

"Go, sweetheart," Carolyn managed to get out, "I'm fine, really."

"Okay..." with one last look, Arthur disappeared behind the door.

"You're not crying because of Martin, I assume," Douglas said calmly. Knowing that Martin was well-cared for now had helped him to compose himself, and he was feeling much better now.

"It's my fault that he's here," Carolyn said, sounding pitiful and not at all like her usual self. "I didn't care that he was so thin, I thought nothing of it! If I were paying him..." she broke off when her voice gave out.

Douglas took her by the arm and led her to a nearby row of chairs, where they sat down.

"He fooled all of us," he said, gravely, "you know how proud he is. But if it is any consolation to you, I feel as bad as you do about the whole thing."

"You're not his employer."

"No, but I do spend a lot of time with him, in a rather confined space at that. And yet I didn't even know how he lives until I saw it yesterday. If anyone is to blame, it's all of us. And also Martin a little. If he weren't so damn proud, he might have asked for help."

Carolyn paused in wiping at her nose and stared at Douglas over her now very moist hanky: "Would _you_ have done that, Douglas?"

He sighed; no point in lying. "No. I probably wouldn't."

"See."

They were silent for a moment.

"What now?" Carolyn asked feebly, once she had calmed down a bit.

"Now," said Douglas, sitting up a little straighter, "we'll go and see Martin. And tomorrow, we'll make a plan."

* * *

Martin was in a room with three other beds, only two of which were occupied; the respective curtains were partially drawn close to give them a little privacy. Martin was on three different IVs and appeared to be fast asleep.

Arthur, who had been standing right next to the safety railing of the bed, moved to the side to make room for his mother and Douglas. Neither of them spoke, but neither of them wanted to leave either, so they stayed until a nurse announced the end of the visiting hours.

* * *

Martin was woken by his own coughing once more. When he raised his hand to his face, he found that something was odd; his hand felt strange. He struggled to open his eyes, which felt grainy, and found himself in rather unfamiliar surroundings. It was dark, though not entirely; he could recognize an IV line which was attached to his hand. Hospital then? Maybe he was dreaming. He closed his eyes again, too tired to try and make sense of it.

The next time, he was woken by a nurse. "Good morning, Mr Crieff, and Merry Christmas," she said cheerfully, "I'm nurse Linda, I'm going to be in charge of you this morning."

Martin's voice was rough and his throat hurt, but he tried to speak: "When..."

"Oh, I'm sorry. You were admitted yesterday evening, after having passed out at home."

Martin frowned, he couldn't remember anything. This was bad, he'd never been in hospital before, and it was scary not to recall how he'd arrived there.

"Alone?" he managed.

"I can't say, love, I haven't been here."

Martin nodded, trying to hide his emotions. It seemed he had finally reached rock-bottom, just when he had thought the situation couldn't possibly get worse; he wasn't only ill and alone on Christmas, he was in hospital at that, feeling wretched. If only he could have stayed at Douglas' place, but no, he had to go and ruin it by fainting like a sissy.

He didn't fancy any of the breakfast he was brought a little later. Linda was adamant he'd at least try some of the tea, which was rather weak and therefore disgusting, and Martin was afraid he might throw up again. He did feel rather queasy afterwards, but his stomach behaved. Somewhat relieved, he closed his eyes; he felt uneasy since there was too much noise, and he felt like someone was watching him. He was still very tired though, had in fact found it hard to stay awake even during the nurse's ministrations, so it didn't take long for his fatigue to overwhelm him once more.

* * *

He had just dozed off when he felt a hand on his own, and a quiet voice said "Hello, Martin". His heart clenched, it had sounded like his mother. Someone must have called her, and she had actually gone through the trouble to come and see him.

Still sleepy and not quite awake, Martin smiled: "You came..." With a bit of an effort, he opened his eyes. It wasn't his mum though, it was Carolyn who was standing next to his bed.

"Of course I came," she said, familiar irritability audible in her voice as well as a bit of bewilderment, but when she noticed the sudden look of distress on Martin's face, she understood.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, squeezing Martin's hand. He closed his eyes again, swallowing a few times, before he met her gaze once more: "Carolyn," he said, his voice still very hoarse. "I didn't mean-"

"It's all right." She smiled at him. "I kind of snuck up on you." She regarded him carefully: "How are you feeling today? I heard the soup was a bit of a letdown."

He gave a weak chuckle: "Yeah, sorry."

Carolyn could see that he was exhausted, and his eyes were glassy because he was still feverish. "Douglas and Arthur say hi, Douglas is going to come by later," she told Martin.

"S' nice of you all," he murmured, avoiding her eyes. "But... it's Christmas, Carolyn." He coughed. "You don't have to stay."

"Nonsense," Carolyn said brusquely. "Of course I'll stay."

Martin hadn't expected it to hurt so much, but her words struck a rather painful spot in his soul. It must have shown on his face again, because Carolyn, after clearing her throat, spoke in that soft voice again: "We didn't know whether we should call your family, Martin. So we decided not to, in case you... didn't want them here."

"Thank you," he whispered, sounding choked. Carolyn remained silent, but the pressure on his hand increased. He felt grateful, but at the same time wished she weren't so understanding, especially since she normally tried to give the impression that she was not.

Her warm hand was comforting though, and Martin found that he was calming down rather quickly. He was ever so tired too, unable to keep his eyes open much longer. He fell asleep with the reassuring thought that at least he wasn't alone now.

* * *

He was asleep for most of the day, barely woke up for the doctor's rounds and didn't hear Carolyn leave or Douglas arrive, Arthur in tow.

When Martin opened his eyes in the late afternoon, he was greeted by the sight of his First Officer and the steward of his aeroplane (well, not really 'his') playing what looked like Travel Scrabble on a small table which was situated at the wall opposite his bed.

"No, Arthur, I'm pretty sure you can't add _catnose_."

"But Douglas! If there's _dognose_ , there should be _catnose_ as well!"

"Who ever said that a word such as _dognose_ exists?"

"Well, I've- Skip! You're awake!"

Arthur immediately abandoned the game, getting up and striding over to the bed: "How are you feeling? We were so worried, but Dr Geoffrey said you were in good hands here. Do you remember Dr Geoffrey? Probably not, since you were so out of it when he came to see you. He isn't really called Dr Geoffrey, you know, since that is his first name, but I don't know his last name and I thought it's rude not to call him Doctor when I have only just met him. Oh! Hey, Douglas- what is Dr Geoffrey's last name?"

"Arthur-" Douglas wanted to interrupt, but the frown on the younger man's face stopped him.

"His last name is Arthur?

"No. I was talking to _you_. Geoffrey's last name is Pierson. And I meant to say that you shouldn't talk Martin's ears off. He only just woke up, after all."

"Right, sorry." Arthur looked contrite. "Sorry, Skip."

"'S fine," Martin croaked, grateful when Douglas handed him a glass of water with a straw; he was really thirsty and his throat felt marginally better afterwards.

"I would however like to join in on initial Arthur's question," Douglas said after he had put the cup down again. "How _are_ you feeling?"

"Been better," Martin's voice was rough, and talking was still painful. "Sorry 'bout all this, Douglas."

"If you keep apologizing, I'll leave you alone with Arthur," Douglas said, albeit sounding good-naturedly.

Martin closed his eyes; he knew that Douglas meant well, but he was still feeling ashamed about being so helpless before, and all this- he'd never be able to repay the other man, and he dreaded having to feel grateful for the rest of his life.

"You don't have to stay," he murmured, swallowing in order to ease the strain on his throat.

"Yeah, Carolyn said you might want to throw us out," Douglas said, apparently not noticing Martin's discomfort. "But since there's no one waiting for me at home, and Arthur has hit a dead-end putting his Lego Christmas present together" (at this, Arthur nodded unhappily), "we don't have anything better to do anyway."

Martin coughed, looking disbelieving: "Really?"

"Well. I might find a bottle of vodka to pass the time with, but we all know how that'd end."

"Actually, I don't," Arthur said. "Because you have not been drinking in so many years, Douglas, I don't believe you'd start now."

"Oh how God loves the innocent."

"I mean it," Arthur protested, "you've been through worse times, haven't you? When Helena left you, for example- you didn't start drinking again then, if you told the truth."

Douglas pinched the bridge of his nose: "From anyone else, one might have considered this as incredibly rude. Coming from you, Arthur Shappey, it's a compliment. How do you do it, I ask myself."

"I don't know," Arthur replied, clearly impressed with this talent of his, "I think it's a gift."

Douglas rolled his eyes and noticed that Martin's had closed again; he seemed to have nodded off.

* * *

"He's sad," Arthur remarked after a few minutes of companionable silence.

"Yes," Douglas nodded. "He is."

**To Be Continued**

**Please leave some feedback**

The Scrabble scene was inspired by Loriot's infamous _Hundschwanz_. =)

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Cabin Pressure and am not making any profit by writing about it.

Thank you all very much for reading and again for your kind words!

**Cabin Pressure:**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 9  
**

That evening, Douglas sat in his kitchen and tried to find a solution for Martin's problems.

"Come on," he told himself, "think of something clever, like you always do." He could hear Arthur's voice in his head as he spoke but didn't feel his usual confidence.

Carolyn simply didn't have the money to pay Martin,and with the alimony he himself was paying for various parties, there was no way he'd be able to cut his own salary in order to share it with his younger colleague, which was an idea Arthur had come up with and which Douglas had quickly had to dismiss.

He sat staring at the mug of tea in front of him; if Martin'd at least earn a decent salary with Icarus Removals, it might be a bit easier for him. The old banger he called a van was indeed too unreliable though; Martin had a point in not raising the hourly fee.

Douglas sat up a little straighter, wondering if he still had his old pal Peter's number.

* * *

Carolyn was also sitting at home lost in thoughts, though she was not alone. Herc was helping Arthur with the Space Shuttle, both of them spread out on the rug just like Arthur and Douglas had done before. It was rather cosy in their living room: the fairy lights on the Christmas tree were on, and a fire was burning in the fire place. Still, Carolyn couldn't concentrate on the book she had been trying to read, and at one point got up and went upstairs.

With slightly trembling fingers, she dug her mother's old jewel case from its hiding place in her wardrobe (to be fair, any burglar with half a brain was probably going to find it within seconds, but she always felt better knowing she had at least tried to conceal it), placed it on her dressing table and sat down in front of it. The case was made of cherrywood and had delicate marquetries in the shape of tiny rosebuds. When Carolyn had been a child, she had been in awe of it; she loved to look at the jewellery, trying on the necklaces and rings.

As an adult, she found that she didn't care much for adorning herself with gold or silver, but she had kept all of her mother's jewellery after her death, even though she never wore any of it; it was still preferable to giving it to her sister Ruth anyway.

The contents of the case were achingly familiar, as was the smell which greeted her; for a moment, she was tempted to close her eyes and indulge herself in the pretence it wasn't 2013 but 1958, but then she didn't. She focused on the task ahead instead, ignoring the surprisingly strong pain it caused.

An hour later, she had made up her mind, and feeling a little breathless, reached for the phone to call Douglas.

* * *

Martin was discharged from hospital on the 29th. He had slept for most of his stay there, which had done him good and had helped pass the time. Douglas , Carolyn and Arthur had all visited once more, and Carolyn had assured him that he needn't worry about the job on the 28th, since Herc was going to fill in for him. So far, so good.

On the morning of his release, right after a nurse had removed the IV cannulas and had shown Martin in which locker he'd find his clothes (Douglas had brought them along), a nutritionist had visited him, talking to him about the risks of anorexia and where he could get help. Martin had been horrified and had tried to convince her he wasn't anorexic, but she very obviously hadn't believed him (it hadn't helped that he'd started to stutter in exasperation) and had left him several brochures about the matter, telling him where to turn to in order to "tackle the problem".

Once she had left, Martin had slowly gotten out of bed and tottered to the bathroom. His limbs were feeling like lead, and his torso was still sore. While he perfunctorily washed himself, having to stop a few times when he got too dizzy from the exertion of staying upright after several days in bed, he stared at himself in the mirror and was appalled by how emaciated he looked. No surprise people were thinking he was starving himself.

Just as slowly, he got dressed, then sat on the bed and waited for Arthur to come pick him up, as he had promised. He was still exhausted and feeling ill, wondering if that was ever going to change again; at least the fever and the nausea had vanished, so the medication seemed to help.

 

"Skip!" He flinched when he heard Arthur's cheery voice, too lost in thoughts to have noticed him approach.

"Hi Arthur," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "Thank you for picking me up."

"Oh, no problem at all," Arthur beamed at him. "You look much better today. Here, I brought you a coat. It's my spare one, I only wear it on special occasions."

"Thank you." Martin put it on with measured movements. It was at least two numbers too big for him, but it was nice and warm, made of thick navy blue wool.

* * *

Martin took a few deep breaths once they were outside. It was bitterly cold and dry; the feeble sun was merely keeping the world from looking grey, but he welcomed the fresh air nevertheless.

Arthur had come in Carolyn's car because the heating in his own was slow and not really sufficient for this kind of weather, especially for someone who was recovering from an illness.

Martin listened to Arthur's chit-chat with one ear while staring out of the window; he was glad when they pulled up at Douglas' house, even though he still felt awkward about the whole matter, and ashamed: ashamed that he was so reliant on others, that he was so pathetic he didn't have a flat he could return to, and that he even had to borrow other people's clothes.

If Arthur noticed that Martin didn't feel like talking, he didn't let it on. He saw how slow his friend was moving and that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes when Douglas greeted them and beckoned them in.

"You don't look quite so peaky anymore," he said, regarding Martin thoroughly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thank you Douglas," Martin replied, promptly beginning to cough. "I think I'll lie down for a bit," he then said, and hesitated. "Er-"

"Oh, right. It's this way." Douglas lead the way to the guestroom: "Make yourself at home, Martin. The fridge is fully stocked if you need anything, and I'm going to cook something nice later on. Also, I've got a fire going in the living room, if you'd rather like to lie on the sofa and watch the telly."

Martin suddenly had a lump in his throat. "Thank you, Douglas," he murmured, managing to conceal his unsteady voice with a few fake coughs. "That's... very generous of you."

"Nonsense. I'm glad to have you." Douglas did in fact feel like he's taking Martin under his wings a little; he could be his father, after all, if he had started very young, which he did. Maybe it was the absence of his own daughter, maybe it was the fact that Martin looked so pitiful right now; whatever the reason, he meant what he had just said. "It's actually rather nice not to be alone in this house. It is too big for one person."

"Why don't you sell it and find a smaller one?" Martin asked while he crawled into bed, relieved to get off his feet and about the distraction.

"Too many memories, I guess," Douglas said. "I grew up here, and there are a lot of other happy things which happened under this roof."

"That's nice," Martin mumbled. "Shouldn't sell it, then."

"No." Douglas smiled, seeing that his friend was knackered: "Sleep well, Skipper." With that, he closed the door behind him.

 

Martin closed his eyes tightly in order to keep back the tears; there was no way around it, he'd need to quit being a pilot and find a proper job. He'd not be able to fly anymore, would have to leave MJN for good, but at least he'd have a regular salary and hopefully find somewhere decent to live.

Which would be a vast improvement to his current situation if one didn't consider he'd have to give up the one thing in his life which he loved and which he was actually living for. Whom was he kidding, however? He'd never get a job at a proper airline (sorry, Carolyn, he thought), he was way too nervous and didn't exude the air of self-assuredness Douglas for example did.

He needed to grow up and stop this ridiculous self-delusion, he was a grown man, after all.

It really didn't make much sense that the thought was hurting so much.

* * *

Douglas looked in on Martin a few times that day, wanting to make sure he was all right and trying to get him to eat something; he hardly touched any of the meals however, and didn't appear up to much else than napping or dozing.

"You're not going to get better if you don't eat, Martin," Douglas said that evening when he came in to clear away the plate and mug. Martin was sitting on the edge of the bed, having just returned from the bathroom and needing a moment to avoid vertigo before lying back down. His shoulders were hunched, and he was the picture of absolute misery.

"I'm fine," Martin murmured, not meeting Douglas' eyes. The older man wasn't so easily fooled, however, and sat down next to him: "Clearly, you are not, Martin," he said with so much sympathy in his voice that Martin felt himself tearing up. Horrified, he pressed his eyes close, but it was no use; his eyes were brimming over and he couldn't stop the tears from flowing freely now, running down his cheeks which were burning with shame and humiliation.

Douglas, who sensed that anything he might say now was only going to make it worse, quietly put his arm around his friend's shaking shoulders, gently pulling him close. Martin initially resisted, but the fight was short-lived. Turning towards him a little more, Douglas put his other arm around Martin as well and held him as he wept.

Martin couldn't deny that it felt good, and even though he was mortified about breaking down like this, there was nothing he could do about it; all his pent-up emotions were surfacing at once, threatening to overwhelm him. The last time he had cried like this was when his father had died; he had held the van keys in his hand and had wept and wept.

 

When he finally managed to calm down, Douglas began talking to him, just telling him he should take deep breaths and that it was going to be okay; his baritone voice reverberated through Martin's own body, which was strangely soothing.

"It's not going to be okay," he protested nevertheless, sitting up, "it's not. I'll have to stop flying, Douglas..." A fresh wave of tears threatened to overcome him, but he forced himself to talk on, and even though it was interspersed with the occasional hiccups and sniffles, he told his First Officer what he had resolved to do once he was back on his feet. Douglas didn't interrupt once, only handed him a handkerchief; when Martin had finished, he stared at his feet for a while, which was most unusual.

"Why don't you come to live here, with me?" he eventually asked, "I've told you this house is too big for me, and you wouldn't have to pay rent."

"I can't do that," Martin said in a low voice, "but thank you."

"Why not?"

"We're colleagues, Douglas... and I'd feel like I was at your mercy. I'm sorry."

Douglas' voice was grave as he spoke now: "I thought we were more than colleagues by now, Martin. I thought we were friends."

Martin wrapped his arms around himself: "But... you're always making fun of me."

"Not _always_..."

"Often."

"Well... yes. But I haven't been making fun of you these past few days, have I?"

"No," Martin admitted. When he didn't say anything else, Douglas tried again: "Look, I'm not only offering it to you because you obviously need some better digs- I could really do with some company too. Someone whom I could cook for, and who'd watch TV with me. Or talk about flying," he added as an afterthought, because Douglas Richardson was nothing if not a masterful manipulator.

"What if you meet someone?" Martin asked, sounding doubtful, "you'll probably want her to move in with you, won't you?"

"In that case, we'll find another solution," Douglas said, sounding confident. He looked at Martin's bony wrist and the way he was hunched in on himself and wished he would say yes.

"Think about it, at least," he asked, "it'd be a good solution for the both of us."

"Okay." Martin sounded exhausted. It probably didn't make much sense to talk about his job situation right now; that'd have to wait until he had recovered a little.

Douglas patted his knee: "I'll be in the living room if you need me." With that, he left the room.

* * *

Martin slowly crawled back into bed, burrowing deeply into the covers because he felt cold now. He closed his still burning eyes and tried not to think, which albeit was impossible; Douglas' suggestion kept reeling in his mind.

Not having to pay any rent certainly'd be a tremendous relief, and if he was honest with himself, he could cope with Douglas' making fun of him- on most days, when Martin felt up to it, it rather translated into friendly banter anyway.

Living in this house would mean escaping his drafty attic room which was cold in the winter and hot in the summer; it'd mean a proper bathroom and kitchen, a bed with a good mattress and, as Douglas had pointed out, company with whom he could talk about aviation. Although, that might hurt once he had stopped flying. His eyes tingled at the thought, but he managed to subdue it this time, doing his best to focus on the other problem at hand.

He was actually warming to the thought of moving in here, he realized, surprising himself. He could suggest paying for food and additional charges like utility costs, that might make up for not having to pay rent. He bit his lip, still unsure whether he and Douglas were suitable candidates to share a house. Especially if said house belonged to Douglas.

On the other hand: he didn't really have a lot of possiblities to choose from, did he? Maybe it was time, for once in his life, to swallow his pride and just do himself a favour.

**o**

**To Be Continued**

**o**

**Please leave some feedback**

**o**


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks- the last part. It took me a while to get into the appropriate mood to finish it, but after listening to the entire series once more (the only thing that gets me through long car rides), it finally happened. Now I'm really looking forward to "Zürich".
> 
> Enjoy!

**Cabin Pressure:**

**God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen, Part 10  
**

 

Douglas had to admit that "tomorrow, we'll make a plan" had not worked so far. He had come up with a rather good idea, of course, but that was where he had gotten stuck. He was all the more relieved when Carolyn called him on the evening of the 29th.

"Douglas," she said without preamble, "I need you to do something for me. No questions asked."

"Er- but I _am_ allowed to ask what _kind_ of favour you need from me, am I?"

"Yes, yes, of course," she said impatiently, "I need you to sell a few things for me."

"What kind of things?"

"Jewellery."

"Ah. I see."

"Can you do it?" Her tone was clipped now.

"I can extend my feelers, certainly," Douglas said. He knew enough people who'd probably knew people who'd be right to deal with this kind of sales.

"Good. Thank you. When you found someone, let me know as soon as possible."

"Will do."

"How's Martin?"

"Not terribly well. He was talking about having to find another job."

"Well, that's a very sensible thing to do, isn't it?"

"He didn't mean Icarus, Carolyn. He meant he is going to give up flying."

Carolyn was silent. "He can't do that," she eventually murmured, audibly taken aback.

"I agree." Douglas hesitated momentarily: "Carolyn- your wanting to sell jewellery doesn't by any means have anything to do with Martin, does it?"

Carolyn sounded defensive when she answered: "Why, what does it have to do with you?"

"Well," Douglas stared into the middle distance, and if his employer had been with him right then, she'd have seen a gleam in his eyes which hadn't been there before. "I was just thinking that we might collaborate."

"Collaborate on what?" A tad of impatience now mingled into Carolyn's tone.

Douglas however sounded triumphant when he answered her:"On Project Icarus."

* * *

Arthur had finally managed to find the mistake, though admittedly, he had needed Herc's help. The captain had patiently shown him how to disassemble the Shuttle in order to retrace his last steps, and they had eventually discovered what had been wrong. And now it was finished. Arthur considered taking it along to Douglas' house, but then decided against it. What if he dropped it? So he resolved the matter by taking a few pictures of the model which he could show the others. Since his last girlfriend had ended their relationship in November and Carolyn and Herc were going to the opera on New Year's Eve, Arthur had been invited by Douglas. They'd watch a movie and pop a few crackers at midnight, maybe light some sparklers. Neither of them were particularly keen on fireworks (with a shudder, Arthur remembered _the incident_ and how his mum had scolded him afterwards), and besides, when they had made those plans, they hadn't known how Martin would be doing anyway.

Douglas opened his front door with a grin: "Ah, Arthur! Perfect timing," he exclaimed, "come in, come in!"

"Why, what time is it?" Arthur asked, excitedly, wiping his shoes on the doormat.

"Time to celebrate!" Douglas sounded mysterious as he led the way into the living room, and it didn't really make sense, since midnight was still a few hours away.

Arthur was happy to see Martin was there. He was sitting on the sofa with his legs up and covered by a blanket, still pale, but he smiled when Arthur greeted him enthusiastically: "Skip! You're up, are you feeling better?"

"I do. Thanks." His voice wasn't as raspy any more either, only a little hoarse. If Arthur was honest with himself, he did think that Martin looked as though a light breeze could knock him over, but at least he seemed to be recovering now.

"Your Christmas present is still lying under the tree," Arthur said aloud. "Do you want to open it now?"

Martin immediately looked abashed: "I don't have any presents for you, Arthur."

"Oh, that doesn't matter. Here, look what Douglas got me!" The steward flopped down next to Martin, only narrowly missing his legs, and showed him the Shuttle photos on his camera.

"That's amazing," Martin stated, but he still seemed uncomfortable.

"It doesn't matter, Skip, really! I'm glad that you're doing better, that can be my present." Arthur beamed at him: "I'll get it for you." He retrieved a colourful parcel from underneath the tree and handed it to Martin, who looked resigned: "Merry belated Christmas, Skip!"

Blushing, Martin fumbled with the present; he'd never been one to simply rip off the paper. Arthur was fidgeting in his seat because it took so long, but his friend finally unwrapped a pair of socks which looked remarkably similar to those Douglas got, only his were striped in red.

"They're... they're... " Martin covered his being at a loss of what to say with a bout of coughing. Arthur didn't seem to mind: "This one looks a bit like Gerti, don't you think?"

Still coughing, Martin nodded. He felt marginally relieved about the lack of a return gift now.

Douglas smiled: "While we're at it- here's Carolyn's and my present." He gave Martin a small cardboard box which was decorated with a red bow.

Martin's hand visibly shook as he took it: "You've done enough already, Douglas," he managed to say, "there's really no need-"

"Just have a look at it," Douglas interrupted him, though with a gentle voice.

Martin pulled off the bow and opened the box. Surprised, he looked up again: "Those are my van keys."

"Yep," Douglas said, rubbing his hands together just as he usually did when he was excited about something that was going to happen, "they are not the actual present, of course, because it proved to be a little too difficult to wrap up and put under the tree."

Arthur looked puzzled, but Martin, who had an inkling what Douglas meant, probably mirrored his expression. "So... where is the present?" he asked, almost timidly.

Douglas beamed: "The present is _in_ the van. Or rather, it will be. I talked to an old friend of mine who was owing me a favour. He owns a garage and really knows his stuff, he has been in the business for more than 40 years. I took the liberty to take your van to him, and after he had a good long look at it, he said it's certainly salvageable."

Martin's mouth had gone dry. He'd have loved to ask what _salvageable_ meant in this case, but he couldn't find his voice.

Douglas, who seemed to possess a sixth sense when it came to these things, handed him a glass of water before he continued: "He's putting in a new motor and other bits. It'll also get a new undercoat and some fresh paint, and once they are done, it'll be as good as new."

Arthur stared at Douglas open-mouthed now: "Wow, Douglas! A new motor!"

"Well, it's not _new_ new. It's from another van which has been wrecked in an accident, but it's still in good shape."

Martin was blinking rapidly now. He didn't know what to say.

"That's very generous of you and Carolyn, Douglas," he eventually stammered. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Douglas' smile was... benign, there really was no other word for it.

Martin looked at the keys "And it is not a joke?" he asked feebly once he had his voice a bit better under control.

"That would be a very cruel joke, Skip," Arthur said.

"Yes...," Martin muttered, lost for words.

"It's not a joke," Douglas said, patiently. "We might call it... an investment."

"An investment?" Arthur obviously didn't follow, whereas Martin blushed again.

"If Martin can charge higher hourly rates for his services as a man with a van, he can only benefit from it, can't he?"

"Oh, yes," Arthur said, "I see what you mean." He knew it would have been tactless to say it, but he hoped that it would put an end to those days on which Martin came to work so exhausted that he was quiet and white-faced until he had had his first coffee.

At least Martin was going to live with Douglas now, which was something they should have come up with a long time ago, since Arthur was sure that not only Martin was going to _benefit_ from it, but Douglas as well. Arthur suspected that he was feeling lonely since his wife had left him, even if he didn't show it.

"The first move you'll make with it once it's done," Douglas now said, beaming,"will be your own."

Martin's tentative smile was a bit watery, and he surreptitiously wiped his eyes. It meant he didn't have to give up flying. He'd still have to reconsider his situation at one point, but it didn't have to be in the immediate future, and he could continue being what he loved: a pilot. His heart hadn't felt this light in a long time.

* * *

Despite best laid plans, they didn't stay up to celebrate the New Year. Martin went to bed long before midnight; he was still recovering, after all, and all the emotions had worn him out. Arthur fell asleep on the sofa around eleven, and Douglas didn't have the heart to wake him again. He covered him with a blanket and went to bed as well; he didn't feel that he was missing out on something, on the contrary. He was looking forward to the new year, which wasn't going to change if he didn't welcome it at midnight.

It was probably going to take a while to get used not being alone in the house anymore, but he found that he was actually looking forward to it. Martin and he had come a long way, they were friends now as well as colleagues, and even though Martin sometimes was a little pompous, Douglas thought they were seeing eye to eye. True, he liked to make fun of the younger pilot from time to time, but he was certain that they'd get along nevertheless.

* * *

Ten days later, Gerti was up in the air again with both her pilots. Martin had recuperated remarkably well and looked much better. Settling into living with Douglas had gone rather smooth so far. He still felt a little embarrassed when he looked back on his first few days in his friend's house, but Douglas didn't mention it once, not even to mock him with it. He seemed indeed glad about the company and had indulged Martin and himself by cooking some sumptious meals. Martin felt much stronger again, which was a relief.

He had gotten his van back three days earlier, and he still hadn't recovered from how different it looked. Douglas' friend had taken care of all the small bumps and scratches it had had before giving it a new coat of paint, and the motor purred like a cat. They had also repaired the failing heating and exchanged the blades on the wipers; driving was rather comfortable now. Martin had once more had tears in his eyes, wishing his dad could see it all.

He had called his landlord and informed him that he was moving out, and when he climbed the stairs to his attic room in order to pack up his stuff, he felt a pleasant shudder running down his spine. He wasn't going to miss it, that much was for sure.

Even though Martin insisted that, given how little he possessed, it wasn't necessary, Arthur helped him with moving. "I can't help it that I love helping, Skip," he said gleefully, and that had been the end of the discussion.

* * *

Above all, Martin was happy to be flying again. When he had entered the flight deck that morning, it had felt like coming home, and he had once more realized how dreadful it would have been to give it up, even if Gerti was old and battered. This was where he wanted to be, it was the only thing in his life which he had looked forward to in the past five years. If he had had to give it up, it'd have been devastating.

The door opened:"Coffee, chaps," Arthur announced, bringing a tray with three steaming mugs and a few biscuits. "I thought I'd join you. Mum is doing her crossword and I better not disturb her."

"I wonder why," Douglas muttered, taking his mug. "She's always so patient."

Martin grinned. He knew what Carolyn had done for him, not only by contributing money to the restoration of his van but also at the hospital. Arthur had told him that she had pretended to be his mother and that, for a moment, even he had believed her. This notion had taken the sting out of the reminder that Martin's own mother didn't even know what had transpired lately, and he was ever so grateful, of course. All that didn't stop Carolyn from being her grumpy old self from time to time, of course; Martin didn't like her any less for it.

"Douglas," Arthur now said, "I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Flying is Martin's dream, right?"

"Looks like it," Douglas replied, glancing at his captain, "why?"

"So... one could say that Martin is living his dream, right?"

"More or less- why don't you ask him?"

"Because you always know everything, and that wasn't the actual question yet."

"Oh. Sorry. Go on."

Arthur took a deep breath:"I have a dream as well," he then said in a rush, "and I thought if Martin can do it, then I can do it too!"

"Yees?" Douglas exchanged a look with Martin, who seemed puzzled.

"Well..." Arthur fiddled with his teaspoon, "do you promise not to laugh?"

"Promise."

"Okay. Here it comes." He took another deep breath:"Can we try to imagine a thousand otters?"

"What?" Douglas and Martin said simultaneously.

Arthur talked hurriedly: "We managed to imagine a hundred otters, and it was brilliant. Ever since, I have wondered whether one can also imagine a _thousand_ otters, so I thought we might give it a try! With your help, it might work!"

Douglas was taken aback: "That is your dream? Imagining a thousand otters?"

"Yes, why?" Arthur said innocently.

"Nothing, it's just... unexpected. We can certainly give it a try, we don't have anything else to do for now anyway, after all."

"Brilliant! I thought they might all fit into the new Sainsbury's, how does that sound to you?"

"Hm... let's see. What do you think, how long is one of those aisles?"

* * *

Carolyn put down the papers; damn crossword, always one or two she couldn't solve. With a sigh, she got to her feet, crossed the galley and went into the flight deck. All three of her boys were there, vividly discussing something to do with otters; they hadn't even heard her coming in.

She was relieved that Martin was doing so much better, and that they had found a temporary solution. Her little MJN family was still intact. Maybe, once she had paid off one of the mortgages, she was indeed going to be able to pay Martin a salary, if they existed that long. She refused to worry about that presently, however; the sky was clear and blue, and the atmosphere was as light as it hadn't been for a long time. She intended to keep it that way.

Smiling, she backed out again: for now, all was well.

 

**The End**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all very much for reading and giving feedback (as well as for your patience concerning updates).
> 
> Furthermore, I'm not a native speaker and therefore apologize for any mistakes.


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